Queen Under the Mountain
by 0-wanderlust-0
Summary: Orana, an exiled heir to a once great Dwarven kingdom and a great warrior in desperate need of money, is invited on an adventure by a very old and dear friend. What awaits Orana as she joins thirteen men, a Hobbit, and a wizard as they cross Middle Earth in search of a lost empire?
1. Prelude: The Kinslayer

_AN: I'm posting this as a sort of character crossover idea I had for an equally broody Dwarven mate for Thorin. Let me know what you think!  
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**Prelude  
The Kinslayer**

The great hall of Aglarond had never looked more splendid, it's intricately carved stone architecture glittering in the glow of the fires to illuminate everything in a warm light – every minute detail of stone faced Dwarves, every hair on elegant deer roaming woodlands was lit and as the light danced upon the surface the images almost seemed to come to life. The vast tables, always covered with fine food, were overflowing. Whole mouth-watering cave boar roasted on the spit sat on shining gold plates, ale by the barrelful flowing freely into the quickly emptying tankards, while potatoes, cooked pheasant, sumptuous mushrooms, thick sausage links as long as a day was long, and pastries ranging from every possible combination of sweet fruits and tantalizing meats were piled high in tribute to the mountains in which the Dwarves made their home.

"Hail, the heirs of Aeducan! Hail!"

The tables shook and the floors rumbled as nearly all of Aglarond celebrated the princess' first command post. Her father, splendid in his golden jeweled armour, beamed down at the scene from behind his finely braided grey beard.  
Raising a gauntleted hand he signalled for quiet and the massive crowd quickly fell silent to listen to Orgrim, King of Ered Nimrais and the small, glittering city of Aglarond.

"Welcome, friends!" he boomed. "Welcome, to all who have come to honour my daughter!"

There was another explosion of noise as the Dwarves cheered again.

"I thank you for your generosity, and for the loyalty of those willing to take up arms at her side tomorrow as she faces the scum that dare oppose our might, our growth, as we seek to bring further glory to Aglarond!"

As her father spoke, Orana stood in wait in a side corridor. Her nimble fingers were quickly braiding mahogany curls into a thick braid, rolling and tucking it into a massive knot at the back of her head as she cursed whoever it was that decided Dwarven women were not permitted to cut their hair. Its length reached well beyond her height – ninety years ample time for hair to grow – and was a source of constant frustration.  
Her eyes, the colour of finely cut emeralds, began to wrinkle at the corners as she realized in her rush to get ready that she'd forgotten to bathe. A smudge of what she could only assume was dirt marred her flawless ivory skin. Looking around to ensure she was alone, she tore off the silver gauntlet that matched the ceremonial mithril armour she'd inherited from her grandmother and raised her weapons calloused hand to full red lips. She wet her palm with her hand and began to scrub furiously at the smudge that threatened her (mostly) tidy appearance, only stopping when she deemed herself presentable.

Straightening, Orana took a moment to admire herself in the mirror and the way the armour flattered and protected her statuesque frame. She'd worked hard to achieve the condition she was in, training day in and day out alongside her kinsmen with the gigantic war axe she bore on her back until her father deemed her worthy to take an official command posting worthy of an heir of Aeducan.

"You look wonderful, sister."

Orana smiled as she turned to face her younger brother, Orrak. He too was dressed for the celebrations in golden armour, though it wasn't as nearly as resplendent as their father's. His beard was finally starting to look worthy of a Dwarf as he aged into his seventh-eighth year, bearing two small braids to frame his mouth. She felt a tiny nag of envy at seeing his hair, the same deep brown as her own, falling loosely to brush his shoulders and not tugging at _his_ scalp as it threatened to throw his balance.

"Thank you, brother."

"Ready to face the horde?" he asked with a sardonic grin.

"Never," said Orana, matching her brother's expression. "But, I do what I must when there are young lads about that need an example to learn by."

"Is that so?" laughed Orrak. "What lads do you speak of? I see none here."

Orana playfully grabbed her brother and wrestled him into a headlock, drilling her fist into his scalp with enough strength to aggravate him but not so much as to cause him real pain.

"I see a lad here with far too much time on his hands when he should be spending it in the training halls."

Orrak fought back though Orana was far stronger than he. She released him to look him in the eye, what she had to say too important to be fooling around while doing so.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he whined as he fixed his now very knotted hair.

"That you need to keep better record of your lovers," said Orana. "I ran into your plaything as I was leaving my room this morning – she thought I was you."

"Oh." Orrak's eyes fell to the ground and the elder Dwarf was surprised at his lack of reaction.

"That's all you have to say? After leading the poor woman around for months on end, only to leave her behind as you go off to play? Did you _want_ Thriff to be discovered? She'd be killed if anyone else were to know what you've been up to."

"She's a servant, sister, why should it matter?"

Orana crossed her arms, glaring at her brother.  
"Simply because she is a servant does not mean she deserves to be tossed to the wolves. Father raised you better than that."

"Raised him better than what?"

The two siblings turned to see the eldest Aeducan approaching and flinched inwardly.

Much like Orrak he was wearing golden armour that glinted brightly in the firelight but Orral Thunderhammer wore his like a true king. As he was much older his black beard was longer and his hair bore a few grey streaks that betrayed his age. His handsome face showed none of the one hundred and twenty years under his belt and he carried his pride as he carried his war hammer – with a heavy hand.

"I was just reminding Orrak here of our father's value in treating others with respect," explained Orana, not wishing to bring Thriff's identity up.  
Unfortunately, while Orral was wise in his dealings with the tumultuous and poisonous political environment that plagued their small city he had a very strong stance against the lower class. Orana didn't understand where it came from as their father had always taught them to treat all equally, but Orral was infamous for the cruelty he inflicted on any poor, common Dwarf who happened to cross his path.  
King Orgrim was aware of this though he said little for fear of upsetting the nobles. Aglarond was mired with political strife as their government, unlike the rest of the Dwarven kingdoms, had some semblance of democracy. The nobles technically elected whom they wished to be the next ruler rather than simply passing to the firstborn of the royal family, though it had been generations since a vote had been called as simply allowing power to pass naturally through lineage was much less trouble.

"And just whom have you been disrespecting?" asked Orral, raising a brow to glare at the young Dwarf coldly.

Orrak didn't respond right away and for a moment Orana thought for a moment the elder brother would strike him.

"Thriff."

"The maid?"

The young Dwarf nodded.

"The whore deserves no respect," growled Orral, tossing an angry glance in Orana's direction as if to challenge her to respond.

"The _whore _you speak of is a Dwarf just as you and I are," she hissed. "But I know you are speaking from heartache – wasn't it just last week I caught her sneaking out of your room?"

Orral reddened as his quick temper began to get the best of him. He seemed to think of drawing his weapon as his eyes looked to her axe and then the dagger she bore on her hip.

"Where did you get that?!" he said, pointing at the perfectly crafted sheath that bore the Aeducan crest. It was a fine weapon, the container made from the strongest oak and the blade of steel from smiths of Lothlorien.

"It was a gift from the Elves' embassy that arrived just yesterday." said Orana. "Is there a problem, brother?"

Orral appeared horrified, but said nothing as a servant came to whisper something in his ear. He frowned, and without saying another word to either of his siblings his went marching back down the corridor.

"You shouldn't have worn that around him," said Orrak.

"Why should I care if he sees it or not?"

"Because," whispered her brother, pulling her around the corner so their voices carried less, "that is a gift meant for a king, not the sister of one. There are rumours that the nobles are going to call for an election when father passes and you're the one they will elect."

Orana snorted.  
"The Noble Council is full of hot air – the walls of Aglarond would fall if the rumours they flung about were to stop. Why should anyone believe something so ridiculous?"

"It's not ridiculous," said Orrak. "Think about it. You're more popular than he's ever been – the lower classes as well as the nobles love you. You're a better leader, you're more intelligent – Thriff told me she heard Harrowmont speaking to Bloodstone about your skills in battle, saying that you would easily defeat Orral if you were to duel."

"Enough!" exclaimed Orana, blushing furiously. "I've heard enough. I will not listen to any idiotic notions that the nobles will take the crown from Orral. He is the heir, not me."

"As you say, sister," Orrak said as he mock-bowed. "Now, I do believe I hear a ravenous horde hungry for a taste of your beauty. Shall we go join father?"

She couldn't help but laugh at her brother's antics, feeling the mood lighten immediately. She took his offered arm and together brother and sister walked out into the hall and to join the banquet.

XxX

"I don't understand, where are they?"

As an Orc warrior descended on Orana, she raised her axe high to swing it in a wide arc above her head. The stupid beast received the blow to its chest, red mist splattering her face as it died. Adjusting her grip so that her hands were placed firmly at either end of the shaft she spun to swipe the legs out from under another attacking Orc and quickly brought the axe down in a chopping motion to imbed the blade in its skull.

"I don't know!" she shouted back as she pulled her axe free, continuing the deadly momentum of her swings to decapitate a Goblin that had gotten too close. As its headless body collapsed to the ground she looked up to see the small band of warriors that were accompanying her in retrieving a legendary, treasured helm that had once belonged to Dain himself for her father had won the skirmish with a band of Goblins and Orcs that had been infesting that particular area of the Glittering Caves. They had succeeded in their venture, the helm tucked carefully into a sack Orana had tied to her belt.

"We should return to the crossroads, my lady," said a red haired scout. "Your brother will be waiting with the group that circled around west."

"Agreed," said Orana as she wiped the blood from her face with a rag, tucking it back in her armour.

She led the ten odd warriors back the way they'd come, the evidence of their victory in the numerous Orc and Goblin bodies that littered the cave floors. For her first command Orana couldn't have been more pleased – everything had gone off without a hitch, and she hadn't even lost a single Dwarf. Though it was an initiation for her the presence of their enemy had been a surprise to all as there were supposed to be none living that deep in the Glittering Caves, save for the occasional scout from Aglarond.

It concerned the princess – if they'd encountered Goblin and Orcs there were bound to be more nearby which could not be allowed. They not only posed a threat to Aglarond, but to the Rohrrim who lived in the plains beyond the towering stone walls of Ered Nimrais. They were valuable allies had she made a mental note to inform them immediately upon her return.

As the group turned the bend that led them into the crossroads that served as the meeting point for the expedition, Orana nearly tripped on something. Confused, as she didn't remember encountering any enemies that far back, she looked down to see the body of one of the warriors that had been in the group Orral had been leading.

"Light," she commanded, beckoning one of the young Dwarven warriors who held a torch. Immediately the flame illuminated the large, open area of the crossroads. She could see even more bodies, all Dwarven, laying unmoving in pools of blood. Gripping her axe tightly she began to inch forward.  
"Watch your step."

Suddenly, as she moved through the carnage she caught the familiar glint of bright armour.

"No!" she gasped, running to the center of the chamber to where the golden, unmoving body of Orral Thunderhammer lay. "No!"

"It's true!"  
Orana's head whipped around to see another group of Dwarves – warriors and nobles – approaching. They were led by Orrak and her father.  
"I told you, father, I'm so sorry," said Orrak.

King Orgrim, with tears in his eyes, looked up on the fallen body of his heir then to his daughter.  
"Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

"What?" exclaimed Orana. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you, father! I told you she's lost her mind!" shouted Orrak, pointing at her. "She killed him! Orana killed Orral! Kinslayer!"

"What?!" she cried. "No! I would never – I could never!"

"And yet here you stand in, standing over his body and bathed in his blood!"

Orana felt as though she had just fallen into a frozen lake, the blood draining from her face.

"I didn't kill him, we arrived not moments before you," she explained frantically. "We went down the east passage, just as we'd planned, but there were Orcs. We fought and continued, retrieving the helm and encountered another group on our way back – we only just got here!"

No one said anything for a moment, Orana's hysterical tone echoing in the cavern as everyone seemed to be staring at either her axe or Orral's body. To her horror, she noticed the wounds he bore were made by a war axe of identical shape and size to hers.

"You," said King Orgrim, pointing to the red headed scout. "What happened?"

He didn't speak immediately, looking to Orrak first who glared in response. Orana thought she might lose her mind as it slowly began to comprehend just what was happening.

"Lady Aeducan led us down the east passage to where we encountered a group of Orcs. We retrieved the helm…."

"Spit it out," barked one of the nobles.

"Sh-she led us back here, where Lord Orral was waiting to m-met with us," he stammered. "But they ha-hadn't seen us. Lady Aeducan told us to wait back there and we heard s-sounds of battle. W-we were worried and wh-when we turned the corner…."

"No," breathed Orana. She tore her eyes from her elder brother's body to look up at her father, who instead of wearing the look of pride or love he so often bore in her presence was looking at her with a look of utter disgust, pain, and grief.  
Orrak was smiling.  
Surely she had fallen into a nightmare. This couldn't be happening.

"Lady Aeducan was standing over Lord Orral. H-he begged for mercy but she just… laughed! She laughed, and k-killed him!"

The cave erupted as everyone began shouting at once. Cries of anger and slurs on Orana filled her ears and she felt all her strength leave her when her father turned away with tears in his eyes and grief unlike anything she'd ever felt before swallowed her whole.

"You lie!" she screamed, lunging for the young scout. "You lie!"

"Kinslayer!" cried Orrak. "Kinslayer! Take her!"

She fought hard, though refused to draw her weapon as she was forced to the ground by what had to have been at least twenty of her kinsmen. When Orrak raised his armoured hand his cold, cruel grin was the last thing she saw before she felt a sharp pain in her temple and was swallowed by darkness.

XxX

They beat her.

She wasn't sure how long it had lasted as Orana had passed out several times. When she regained consciousness in her dark cell she could tell from the blinding pain in her body that she had at least a few broken ribs and her shoulder was possibly dislocated. She couldn't begin to imagine what her face looked like as her left eye had swollen shut, and the dull iron taste in her mouth made her spit to reveal an unnerving amount of blood.

Orana groaned as she rolled over, trying to pull herself to at least sit up but the pain was too great. As she lay there on the damp floor and stared up at the moss covered roof, a bead of water dripping a steady rhythm as it fell to splash on her fevered forehead, Orana tried to process just what had occurred.

Orrak had betrayed her. He'd betrayed all of them, killed Orral and made it look as though she had done it. Obviously he had bribed or threatened the warriors that had been with her in the caves so they would tell the hideous lie of her brother's murder at her hands and their betrayal stung almost as bad as his. In all her years she never once suspected his true intentions.

"My lady?"

Letting her neck relax her head turned so she could see the familiar figure of Balin standing and staring at her through the bars. Next to him was someone she did not recognize, however, as he was clearly not a Dwarf and was dressed in grey robes and a hat that hid his face. A long, grey beard that fell nearly to his belt was visible and betrayed the fact he was undoubtedly ancient.

"B-Balin?"

"By Aule… open the door, you fool!" he cried, throwing the guard towards the gate. She watched, still unmoving, as the Dwarf fumbled with his keys and unlocked the door. Balin ran to her, dropping to his knees at her side. He was a welcome sight as while he wasn't of Aglarond he was a very dear, old friend.  
"Oh, child," he whispered as he pulled a skin bottle from his pocket and quickly popped off the stopper. "Drink this."

Balin lifted her head and poured water into her dry mouth. She greedily gulped it down and felt the pain in her body ease. The Man – his face far too rough and aged to be Elf now that she could see it clearly – knelt down as well and laid his hand on her stomach, muttering strange words.  
A cool sensation trickled through her veins, tingling and relieving as she felt her pain ebb away. Orana gasped as she felt her ribs pop back into place and her shoulder shift back into its correct position. The sensation reached her face and slowly vision returned to her left eye and soon she felt nothing but stiffness in her body and she quickly sat up.

"Thank you," she gasped.

"I had no idea Orrak had allowed it to go this far," said the Man.

"Neither had I," said Balin, disgusted.

"When is my trial?" asked Orana. She knew her brother couldn't keep her there forever – she would be brought before the council and tried, allowing her the chance to defend herself.

"It's already happened. Orrak had the entire Noble Council in his pocket, they've declared you guilty and named you kinslayer."

Orana's breath left her as she saw her hope flee. Being labelled a kinslayer was the greatest dishonour a Dwarf could endure. It meant certain death or, at the very least, exile.  
"Wh-what of my father?"

The Man and Balin exchanged a sad look before the Dwarf placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.  
"He's fallen ill," he explained. "The grief of what has happened was too much for him – he's not expected to last."

A strangled sob escaped her mouth before she could stop it, tears flowing freely to create pale streaks down her dirty face. Orrak had done what no Dwarf had succeeded in for centuries – he'd killed the heir, removed the competition, and killed the King.  
The grief Orana had felt in the cave overtook her once more and silent, racking sobs began to shake her body. She'd had battle wounds before but the pain that ripped through her heart was beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

"Wh-when am I-I to be exiled?" she asked as her sobs slowly subsided minutes later.

"Tomorrow."

Orana buried her face in her hands and sighed heavily, fighting back more tears. She knew there was nothing she could do as long as Orrak had the Noble Council under his control, and the fact she hadn't even suspected him was weighing heavily on her mind. Had she not seen it coming because of her affection for him, or because he'd just been that clever?

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she whispered.

"You will survive," said the Man. "Many of your kin have forged lives for themselves outside of their mountain halls. Orrak may have succeeded here, but his betrayal is known – he threw the Elves and the Rhohrrim out as soon as your father collapsed. You have support outside of Ered Nimrais."

"What good is that?" cried Orana. "What good is the support of strangers when it is my own people who have turned their backs on me? The council, my own brother!"

"There are rumours of fights in the lower levels," said Balin. "There are those in Aglarond who fail to believe Orrak's lies."

Orana felt the flutter of hope in her gut, but she quickly extinguished it. Orrak would be swift and ruthless in putting down any sign of rebellion in the lower classes that dwelled in the lower levels of the city.  
She supposed she could go to Rohan, find work there if what the Man was saying was true – she may have been labelled a kinslayer but she still had her skills. Then she could save enough to get her to where Dwarves had settled in the Blue Mountains.

"I will not fight my exile and risk their lives," she said firmly. "Orrak will show no mercy. I will go to Rohan."

The Man and the Dwarf lord frowned, but they seemed not wish to argue with her.

"Then we must get you out of here," said the Man, pulling her to her feet. "Quickly, before daybreak."

"Wait – Who are you? Why must we leave now?" said Orana as she accepted the clothes that Balin handed her. When her brother had her beaten and thrown in the cell they'd stripped her of her clothing until she was in nothing but a breastband and underclothing.

"Lady Aeducan, this is Gandalf the Grey."

"Your brother was not planning on allowing you to leave the city alive, lady Aeducan. We must get away now," Gandalf whispered as they all heard footsteps approaching. "Quickly!"

Orana slipped on the simple tunic, breeches, and boots, not bothering to even check her hair knowing it would be a gigantic nest of blood and dirt. There was no time with day approaching.

"Let's go."

They encountered no resistance, Gandalf and Balin leading Orana through the side streets of Algarond. Once and a while they did see a beggar or an urchin – all bowing to her as she passed and making her wonder just how large the rebellion already brewing against Orrak was. The thought of how many of her people would die in the coming months under his rule – rebellion or not – created an ache in her heart.

The glow of sunrise was beginning to touch the gates by the time they reached them, the caves beginning to glitter brilliantly in the morning light. Orona stopped as they passed through the vast gateway to take a look back at her home; for all what was going on within its sparkling caves and great halls it looked glorious in the morning light. A determination filled Orona, the grief turning her soul to resolute stone and she knew some day she would return and take her life back. Some day she would return to Aglarond and kill Orrak for what he'd done.

Some day.

...

_AN: Also, in case you were wondering, I'm basing my OC's backstory off of the Dwarf Noble origin in the first Dragon Age game. It's so heart wrenching and easily my favourite choice of all the starts._**  
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	2. Chapter 1: Company

Chapter 1: Company

"Again!"

Orana watched with a cool expression as the newest member of the Stoneheart Mercenaries – a young Dwarf named Narin – as he ran through the basic sword and shield drill again alongside the rest of the men. Under the scrutinizing gaze of the leather clad, steely Dwarf woman they were putting in more effort than they'd normally would but she didn't mind.  
Every few moments she would step in and correct someone, but otherwise she remained off to the side, watching the warriors sweat in the warm sunshine of an early summer's afternoon that beat down on the field just beyond the walls of Bree.

Fifty years had passed since Orana Aeducan's betrayal at the hands of her own brother, and much had changed for the former princess though her appearance was very much the same. There was, perhaps, less light in her once brilliant eyes for which she'd been named and the barest hint of wrinkles at the corners. Her full lips were no longer curved into a seemingly permanent smile but rather held in a firm, expressionless shape; no longer was she ever seen wearing the jewels and mithril that had so long adorned her body but had abandoned armour altogether, settling for hardy, worn mail, fur, and leather. The only thing truly unchanged about Orana – or Ora, as she now went by – was her massive, unruly mane.

A heart of stone. That's what many who had encountered the outcast following her exile from Aglarond saw. It was the Elves who first began referring to her as Stoneheart when she arrived in Lothlorien a week following Orrak's takeover, and had followed her as she began to make her way across Middle Earth, from Rohan to Eriador, in search of purpose and life. However, soon she found herself with company as the Dwarves of the White Mountains fled in her footsteps to escape the youngest Aeducan's tyrannical rule. The once glorious kingdom of the Glittering Caves and the Glittering Throne quickly drowned in the blood of her people as Orrak the Butcher closed his hands around the neck of Ered Nimrais.

Many Aglarond Dwarves took to their respected trades for which the Dwarves were so well known – mining, jewel-crafting, and blacksmithing alongside their kin or in the lands of Men and Elves – while others fell into the only life they understood: the life of a warrior.  
Quickly the refugees of Aglarond gained a horrid reputation as they fought and plundered their way until they stumbled into the path of their lost princess. Most were astonished to find Orana Aeudcan, now Ora Stoneheart, living and working as a lowly guard for a merchant caravan they'd tried to raid. Furious and heartbroken at seeing her people so lost she fell into the role she'd left behind after having it ripped from her hands by Orrak – that of a leader.

Now the Stoneheart Mercenaries were in their tenth year of their creation and carried with them a decent reputation across Middle Earth. It brought the refugees the security of a steady income, respect, and allowed them to travel even as far west as the peaceful lands of Men and Halflings in the west of Eriador.

Though, in Ora's opinion, they were far too peaceful. Peace meant boredom for her men, and boredom meant trouble.

"I think they've had enough, don't you?"

Ora turned to see her second in command, the redheaded and very long bearded Gorim, standing behind her with his arms crossed. He was older than her, and his strong words and kind brown eyes had given her guidance and comfort on more than one occasion and it was him that made sure that her heart was still beating.  
Looking back to the Dwarves who were red, sweaty, and sluggish Ora felt herself agree. They'd been punished enough for the brawl they'd started in the tavern the night before.

"That's enough for today!" she called out to be met with cheers and sighs of relief. The men parted, returning to their tents to gather new clothes as they prepared to go bathe in the nearby lake.

Narin, as energetic as ever, bounded over to her like a pup to its mother and next to her Ora heard Gorim hide a laugh with a cough.

"Will you be joining us this evening, Ora?"

"That's _lady_ Ora to you, boy," growled Gorim.

"It's fine, Gorim," said Ora. "I will not. I'm to meet with the Rangers and discuss a new contract."

"Oh," said Narin, his bright smile falling. "I – I mean, some of the men were hoping to see you. You should come to the Prancing Pony tonight."

At that the blushing young Dwarf practically sprinted away with blond braids flying behind him and Gorim unleashed the laughter that he'd been struggling to hold back. Ora shot him her most withering glare.

"I don't understand how you find such great amusement in this," she said as she began to make her way back to her tent.

"Perhaps because it happens every time we gain a new recruit," laughed Gorim.

"Hardly," Ora retorted.

"Name three."

"Hylar, Vonten, and Elak."

"Vonten has a wife, and Hylar and Elak still have bets going on whose necklace you'll like more."

Ora sighed, removing the belt that held her two short swords as she and Gorim entered the modest canvas tent. It was warm inside, but much cooler than it was in the sun thanks to the shade of a large oak tree next to it.  
The attention of men was something she'd enjoyed greatly in Aglarond but since Orrak she preferred solitude – especially when so many of the young Dwarves who vied for her attention so strongly reminded her of her younger brother. All in the Stoneheart Mercenaries and many Dwarves and the Elves outside of the company knew of her history, but Gorim was the only one who she truly trusted – he was a former member of the Noble Council, the only lord who'd escaped with his life when Orrak began purging Aglarond of those who opposed him and one of her late father's closest advisors.  
On multiple occasions he'd tried to convince Ora to return to Ered Nimrais and lead the rebellion against her brother, however after the fourth time she threatened his well-being he dropped it. Now he settled for passive-aggressive comments and leaving reports on the latest developments so conveniently on her desk or outside her tent.  
Their relationship was entirely friendly, their interactions very much resembling that of a doting uncle and his niece.

"I expect you'll be joining the men at the Prancing Pony this evening?" she asked as she began to change into her mail. There was no such thing as modesty for Ora anymore, not when constantly travelling with male Dwarves though Gorim still respectfully averted his eyes.

"Of course," he replied with a grin. "Have to make sure they don't cause trouble again – and I know it's not my place, but it would be a boost to the lads' morale if you were to make an appearance."

"I'm sure that pretty Halfling waitress won't mind seeing you there again, either," said Ora with a very rare smile. "And you are correct, it's not your place but I will see if there is time after meeting with the Rangers."

"Of course, my lady," said Gorim.

She felt a slight warm breeze as he bowed and left, and her smile faded as the business of the evening ahead began to occupy her mind. For what little work there was in the area, it most often dealt with either merchants looking for guards or the Rangers, which was significantly more dangerous that they usually let on. The Man who'd approached her had been very vague which led her to believe whatever it was they were hoping to hire the Stoneheart Mercenaries for was very, very dangerous and would most definitely include bloodshed. While the drills she'd put the men through all afternoon had been punishment for their unruliness the night previous, it was also preparation.

Because if there was anything Ora hated, it was being caught unprepared.

XxX

The meeting with the Rangers had gone just as she'd expected – they wanted to hire the Stoneheart Mercenaries to join with their own forces as they hunted down a rather large clan of Trolls who'd been raiding in the nearby hills. They posed a great threat not only to Bree and its surrounding villages, but also to the nearby Shire – the home of the tiny, peaceful Halflings.  
However she had not expected the massive amount of gold they promised, in addition to weapons, mounts, and several Men gifted with the bow interested in working under their banner. Dwarves were naturally talented warriors but very, very few could bear the sight of a bow let alone use one to any degree of effectiveness.

The contract had been drawn up and was weighed heavily in her favour, and now Ora was in a very fine mood. She decided the job warranted some celebration and now found herself wandering through the moon and torch-lit streets towards the Inn of the Prancing Pony.  
It wasn't hard to find. She'd been there quite a few times meeting clients or breaking up fights started by her younger members – lately, Narin had been the worst of them – and the sounds of bawdy songs, the scent of mead and pies, and the warm, inviting lights were a beacon in the balmy summer's evening.

However, as Ora entered the sight was anything but welcoming.

"Say that again, maggot, and we'll see how long your axe is!"

"Elf-loving piece of Goblin dung! I bet you can't even lift that sword!"

In an all-too identical scene to the previous night, several of the Stoneheart Mercenaries were in the center of the large, well-lit room facing down against a small crowd. Only this time rather than angry farmer's sons, it was a group of unfamiliar Dwarves.

Three were as young as Narin, one brunette with what could hardly be called hair on his face and two blondes who looked to be just growing into their beards. The rest were varied in age, shape, and sizes though were all armed to the teeth and well armoured in leather and chain.  
Without blinking Ora began to wade through the crowd of onlookers who had begun taking bets towards the brewing scrap. She reached it just in time to grab Narin's wrist as he'd been about to strike the young Dwarf opposite him.

Narin, as usual, had clearly been enjoying the mead more than was necessary that evening as without so much as a glance he swung at whomever it was that had stopped his assault. Ora was much faster and much more experienced, and reacted with the reflexes of a well-honed warrior. She dodged his punch to hurl her own fist at his face, the young Dwarf's body striking the ground hard, nose bloodied.

"O-Ora!" he spluttered through the blood, the tavern going silent.

"Clearly none of you have learned your lesson," she growled, loud enough for her men hiding in the corner who hadn't bothered to step in.

"Please, lady Ora," said the round faced Elak, "They insulted the company, and you! We couldn't just –"

"Refrain from making fools of yourselves and the name of the Stoneheart Mercenaries by fighting in a tavern like drunken oafs?" she barked, many flinching at her tone. "Tomorrow expect to be running drills from sun-up to sun down, and Aule help you if I find so much as a single one of you utter a complaint I will personally haul them behind Red through town, naked, until it sinks in that you are not to brawl in bars! Now I suggest you leave before I consider finding a whip."

Not needing to be told a second time the Dwarves of her company fled, Elak dragging a drunken and embarrassed Narin with him.  
A few moments later Gorim appeared, dishevelled, from the direction of the rooms and followed by an absolutely glowing Hobbit woman. When he noticed that the mercenaries were gone and Ora was standing by the bar with a look of pure fury on her face he had the decency to look ashamed.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said as he straightened his belt. "I was a bit – distracted."

Ora sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache beginning to rise.  
"It's fine, Gorim. I can hardly begrudge you for enjoying yourself, though I do expect you to be instructing the men tomorrow."

"Yes, my lady. Might I recommend sending a round of drinks to the far table? I would hate for kin to leave with such a poor impression of us."

"Yes, of course," she said, waving a hand dismissively as she nodded to the barkeep while accepting a tankard for herself. Ora didn't often drink, but she felt as though she needed it now and greedily gulped down the pint as the doors continued to open and close as patrons flowed through the tavern. Gorim had the good sense to remain silent and ordered a drink for himself.  
Once she was done she glanced over at the strangers who were just receiving the drinks she'd sent over. They seemed pleasantly surprised and raised their tankards in greeting and thanks just as more patrons entered. The night air was quickly becoming cool and Ora fought a shiver as she turned back to order another drink.

"Balin! There you are!"

Ora nearly dropped her tankard and spun so quickly in her chair she nearly fell over to see the familiar, white face of Balin, son of Fundin, her old friend and saviour.

She watched in shock as he marched over to the table of strangers, inquired about their drinks, and finally spot her when they pointed in her and Gorim's direction.

"By my beard!" he cried while Ora slid from her seat to make her way over to the elder Dwarf, Gorim on her heels. "I don't believe my eyes."

"You're looking mighty grey, my friend, perhaps they've started to fail you?" she said with a small – but genuine – smile as Balin bowed low before pulling her into a warm embrace and then shaking hands with Gorim.

"Gorim, my boy, it is good to see you as well. What in the name of Aule are you doing this far west?"

"They're with the mercenary group camped just south," spoke up the young blonde Dwarf bearing braids on either side of his wry mouth. "The Stoneheart Mercenaries, I think they were called."

"You would be correct," said Gorim.

"My friends, allow me to introduce Gorim, son of Gorthal and Ora –"

"Ora Stoneheart," she interrupted before Balin used her first name.

Of the many things Ora regret in her life, one was not seeing Balin more often. He'd been there to comfort her in her grief when news of her father's death arrived while in Rohan, but they departed ways not long after. It had been nearly twenty years since they'd seen each other last but from the grin on his bearded face Ora knew his warm heart had not changed.  
However, Balin was not aware of the fact she preferred not to share her lineage and wished to keep it secret. Not all Dwarves were always pleased to meet the exiled princess and on more than once occasion she'd encountered an assassin hired by her brother.

Balin, while clearly surprised by her interruption, said nothing as he began to introduce the Dwarves at the table.

There were eight of them in total. Bofur was a cheery, scruffy sort of Dwarf who grinned widely at them from beneath a furry hat and a fine moustache. His brother, Bombur, was no less so but far more rotund with an equally massive red beard pleated into an enormous braid that draped across his chest. Bifur was their cousin, and was of little words though what he did say was in Khuzdul as he bore a chunk of axe in his head from the Battle of Azanulbizar. The youngest, blonde Dwarf was Ori who blushed brightly under Ora's cool gaze while his brothers, the friendly, grey-haired Dori and the dashing, intricately braided Nori smiled kindly.  
The final two were Kili and Fili, sons of Dis, and heirs to Durin. Their presence surprised Ora, and she gave a small bow to the royal brothers though they just smiled and winked playfully, Fili offering his apologies for the earlier altercation.

"You travel in fine company, Balin," said Ora as she, Balin, and Gorim found seats at a separate, more private table. Fili and Kili had begun yet another bawdy song they had evidently learned out west as quickly many of the other patrons had joined in.

"I hesitate to say the same after hearing of what happened earlier," said Balin, giving his best impression of a disapproving grandfather.

"They are good men, but the lack of work lately has been hard on everyone," she explained sombrely. "But they've come a long way from raiding merchants on the roads."

"I had heard of a group of mercenaries that work to support Aglarond refugees," mused the old Dwarf as he began to stroke his beard. "Though I had no idea you had anything to do with it. I should have known you couldn't sit around and do nothing forever."

Next to her, Gorim growled but it was low enough Balin didn't notice.

"You know me as well as anyone, Balin," she said, voice low. "I've never not helped my pe – my kin."

"And yet you run around playing mercenary while Orrak continues to strangle the life out of Ered Nimrais?"

"What would you have me do, Balin?" Ora growled as her temper rose. "Orrak has far too strong of a hold, trying to take Aglarond is a fool's errand, and I would not lead anyone to such a death. Giving them the means to find new life is far kinder, and one that will not end in a massacre at the hands of my own brother."

To her surprise, Balin smiled, leaning back in his seat.  
"I was hoping you would say that."

Ora gave a very unladylike snort and crossed her arms, glaring at her friend.  
"Why is that?"

"Because, _Ora Stoneheart,_ I have a proposal for you - one that will give you enough gold to ensure the survival of your people."


	3. Chapter 2: Kings

**AN: Sorry for the short chapter, but it felt right to end it where it did. Hope you like it!**

Chapter 2 – Kings

"It just so happens that I am travelling in the company of Thorin Oakenshield, with the purpose of travelling to the Lonely Mountain," explained Balin as he lit his pipe. "We are going to take back Erebor."

Ora felt her eyes widen and looked down to hide her surprise while next to her, Gorim scoffed.  
"And what of Smaug the Terrible? An ancient fire drake would hinder your quest somewhat."

Erebor had been once the greatest of all the Dwarven kingdoms – a veritable honey pot of gold, jewels, and the finest craftsmen in all of Middle Earth. It had been under the rule of the descendants of Durin, and inhabited by Durin's folk, and was thriving and healthy. However, as Ora's father had once told her Thror, the King Under the Mountain, ruler of Erebor and heir to Durin grew so sick with his greed and goldlust that it infected the very kingdom itself and drew unwanted attention.  
Not long before Ora had been born a fire drake from the north called Smaug the Terrible plundered the Lonely Mountain. With his legendary and draconic hunger for all that glittered he drove Durin's Folk from their home to take it for himself where, to that day, he sat and watched over his insurmountable horde.

"We have a plan," said the elder Dwarf. "Gandalf is with us, and we've just hired a thief to aid us in our endeavor. Smaug has not been seen for many years and there will be no great battle, but we will outsmart the beast and get our home back."

"And what do you need of us, then?" asked Ora. "A band of mercenaries will be of little use to you, especially since I'd imagine you want to keep this secret."

"We don't need mercenaries," said another familiar voice. Turning, Ora saw Gandalf the Grey had quite suddenly appeared next to them, seated next to her, smoking on his long pipe. "We need a guide, someone who's travelled, who knows the roads, side roads, paths, and mountains better than anyone currently in our company."

"Gandalf," greeted Gorim, both he and Ora clasping hands with the old wizard.

"I should have known you'd be involved in this. I don't have any scouts or guides with the skill you're describing, and if I did I wouldn't dare hire them out without their consent," said Ora.

Balin smiled.  
"We mean you, my lady."

Ora crossed her arms, leveling an icy gaze at her two old friends.  
"And what makes you think that I would leave my men to join a company that I barely know to lead them across Middle Earth to almost certain death?"

"Because you would be given a fifteenth of the share of treasure recovered," said Balin. "You could feed the refugees for half an age. And the lady I once knew would never back down from any challenge, especially certain death."

Ora sighed and rubbed her forehead, mind racing. Balin was right – even one of fifteen shares was an incredible amount considering the legendary treasures of Erebor and she could probably start their own colony with the gold. However what he was asking was no small feat. Not only would she have to leave her men, but she would be leading a group of strangers who would no doubt oppose her presence as a woman and (if they ever found out) the exiled Aeducan kinslayer, through the Wild, the Misty Mountains, and Mirkwood if they were to take the most direct route – by no means an easy or safe road.  
It surprised her to hear that the company was being led by Thorin Oakenshield. They'd never met, but the renowned Durin heir and rightful king to Erebor didn't seem to be the type to run off on a quest in which there was absolutely no chance of success. Perhaps, Ora wondered, there was a greater chance for victory than what she saw and maybe it was enough for her to consider Balin's proposal seriously.

Of course, her leaving meant that Gorim would have to be left in charge and the Stoneheart Mercenaries would be left without her to complete the contract with the Rangers. The agreement didn't necessitate her presence, after all, and the sheer amount of gold being promised her was far too great to not give consideration.

"You should do it, my lady," said Gorim suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. "We can handle ourselves, you've trained the lads well enough and I'm sure they'd appreciate the chance to prove themselves without you acting like a mother hen."

"I do not act like a mother hen," she retorted.

"You do. They will be _fine_. We leave tomorrow to meet with the Rangers, do we not? They will be away from taverns and given work, and the elders will keep the young ones in check."

Ora sighed again, her desire to help her people winning out over her trepidation.

"Very well."

"Excellent!" said Gandalf as Balin grinned, producing a packet of parchment from somewhere inside his coat.

Ora examined it carefully, reading over the promised pay and compensation but skimming the risks, finally signing her true name before handing it back to the white-haired Dwarf.

"Very good," crowed Balin as Ora stood, indicating to Gorim that they were leaving. "We are departing at ten tomorrow morning."

"I will see you at nine," she replied. "If you'll excuse us now, we have business to attend to before the morning. Good evening."

Gandalf and Balin returned the farewell, giving her a small bow and watching her as she swept out of the Prancing Pony with Gorim trailing behind, heart heavy at the thought of telling her men she was going to be leaving them.

"I do hope you know what you're doing," said the Dwarf to the wizard once the pair had gone.

"I always do, Balin," said Gandalf with a wink. "It will be good for her."

XxX

Bree was already busy when Ora rode into town the following morning, the sun's light warm. It was going to be a hot day but she wasn't concerned - her pony, a hardy, feisty roan aptly named Red, handled all weather well and without complaint so long as she was fed and others kept their distance.

The men hadn't taken her news particularly well until she shared with them the amount she'd been promised, and even the elder, more skeptical members of the Stoneheart Mercenaries were excited. Ora, while being assured by Gorim and Vonten, was still anxious about leaving them as they were about to leave on such a large and dangerous contract of their own.  
She knew they wouldn't be alone. They would be fighting alongside the Rangers who were more than capable in battle but the thought of her not being there with them put her in a slightly melancholy mood that followed her all the way to the Prancing Pony. It only brightened slightly when she saw the tattooed, bald head of Dwalin next to Balin checking the company's supplies in the front yard.

"And here is our guide!" said Gandalf as she swung out of the saddle.

Those that were in the yard turned to see Ora, and she quickly found herself engulfed in the massive, muscular arms of Dwalin.

"Mahal, Dwalin, put me down before you strangle the breath from my body," she gasped.

The old warrior complied, beaming down at her despite his gruff appearance. Even though he was the second eldest member of the company, Dwalin was the most intimidating looking with tattoos scattered across his head, his hands, and Ora knew across most of the rest of his massive body. He wore knuckle-dusters, hard, dark leather and metal and more than one scar on his face though for all his abrasive appearance he was a kind Dwarf who was as fierce in his loyalty as he was in battle.

"You're our guide?" he asked.

"Your brother and Gandalf cornered me last night," she said. "My boys weren't happy to see me go, but they will be busy with Gorim."

"Boys?! The princess finally settled down!" he roared as he slapped her hard on the back.

"Don't call me that," she hissed, pulling herself free from his grasp. "And no, I didn't. I meant my own company which I left under the promise of gold and _anonymity_."

Dwalin grinned.  
"Of course. What am I to call you, then?"

"Ora Stoneheart."

Dwalin raised his brow in a questioning manner, but was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the company.  
Fili and Kili greeted her with wide grins while the rest that she'd met the night before simply nodded. The new Dwarves Balin quickly introduced – Oin was ancient, though spry, and used an ear trumpet to hear stuffed under white hair while his younger brother Gloin was a surly, energetic redhead. Trailing behind close to Bofur was a handsome young gentle-Hobbit Bilbo Baggins with fine sandy curls and warm blue-green eyes. He looked positively terrified until he laid eyes on Ora, then he was shocked.

Ora knew she didn't appear as many outside the Dwarven race expected. While she had no beard, her dark hair ran in two lines of fine, dark hair just below her cheekbones that reached midway across her cheeks. Little facial hair on females was common of Aeducans and while it was more than any Elf or woman, she found few thought it masculine while her kin simply found it almost delicate looking. Then, as she saw the Hobbit's eyes rove down her figure she wondered if his staring was at her fitted, laced breeches and a light – albeit figure hugging – tunic and emerald undershirt. While only showing the tiniest hint of what could be an almost disproportionate amount of breast for her stature it was far more than any Hobbit would dare reveal, and when he realized she noticed his staring he blushed furiously and looked quickly at his bare Hobbit feet.

"Your guide better be as good as you say he is, Gandalf," growled an unfamiliar voice as a figure pushed their way to the front of the group. "He – "

Thorin Oakenshield was slightly less impressive than Ora had pictured him to be. Stories of how he led his people to safety when Smaug took Erebor, then to Ered Luin, and after the death of King Thror and his own father after the battle of Azanulbizar, she had been expecting a Dwarf the size of a Man with lightning shooting out of his eyes and fire out of his arse.  
He was rather handsome, however, and still tall for a Dwarf. In fact, as he stood amongst the company he was the tallest (Dwalin a close second) and had wisps of fine grey streaked through luxurious black waves. Blue eyes, cold as stone and bright as sapphires, gleamed above sharp cheekbones and a trimmed black beard. He wore few braids, another surprising fact, and black leather with furs and plate mail.

With every movement as powerful and fluid as the next he was undeniably regal and Ora felt a sharp pain in her heart as she thought of her father.  
He stopped when he laid eyes on her.

"How _dare _you show your face," he snarled. "How dare you enter the presence of any Dwarf, kinslayer?!"

Ora flinched, and immediately began to regret her decision as cries of outrage and surprise began to sound from the rest of the company. The only ones who didn't were Balin, Dwalin, Gandalf, and the Hobbit and she felt the temptation to cower under their furious glares but stood firm.  
It disappointed her slightly that the young king believed her brother's lies. There were very few who still believed Orrak's claims, especially after so many long years of monstrous tyranny, but they were out there and, apparently, in the Company.

"You should be dead, in the bottom of a ditch with a knife in your back for what you did! You brought down Ered Nimrais with your greed, you killed your own brother! They should have never let you leave Aglarond with your head, gluttonous wench."

"You know as well as I that she is innocent," barked Balin.

"Innocent? Is that what you call half the Noble Council finding you standing over your own brother's body, covered in his blood?"

"Believe what you will, Thorin Oakenshield; there are two sides to this tale," growled Ora as she stood directly in front of the enraged king and matching his frigid glare. "Regardless of your confidence in my guilt, I have been hired on as a member of your Company as your guide. I've signed the contract, and I never break my contracts – I'm sure my reputation precedes me in that, as well. And," she added, crossing her arms, "I am equally sure you don't break yours. Say what you will about me, but I will not be leaving until the contract is fulfilled."

A tense silence fell over the crowd in the yard, the only noises coming from the shuffling of the ponies and distant noises of town.  
Just when Ora thought she might be forced to defend her life against Oakenshield, he turned away and began barking angry orders at his nephews. There was no sigh, but there was a collective release as everyone seemed to relax once more and return to their tasks and though Thorin relented the Company was regarding her in a decidedly less friendly way – with the exception of Balin, Dwalin, Gandalf, and a very confused Bilbo who just avoided her.

It was going to be a long trip, and as they journeyed out of the town gates and Ora glanced back to see the Stoneheart Mercenaries watching from the woods in silence she was reminded of her cause. Not even the great Thorin Oakenshield would stand in her way, even if she was working for him.


	4. Chapter 3: Fairy Tales

Chapter 3 – Fairy Tales

After three days of travel if there was one thing Ora could say about being in Oakenshield's company was that it was significantly quieter than her own.  
But then again, that simply could have been the number of members who would speak to her was so few. Even the pleasant Fili and Kili who'd been so friendly before avoided her gaze and only ventured near when absolutely necessary. Ora was fine with this, as she hardly trusted any of the others as much as they most likely trusted her after her public encounter with Oakenshield and it allowed her the chance to speak with Balin and Dwalin as the three of them – sometimes four, if Gandalf left Bilbo's side – led the Company through the Wild. It was pleasant, as she so greatly enjoyed seeing them again.

The sons of Fundin hadn't been doing anything too different from the last time she'd encountered them. Balin, as he'd been since before Ora had met him, was serving as an advisor and was well respected amongst Durin's Folk and often tutoring some of the younger Dwarves. Dwalin had been engaged with the protection of Oakenshield and his heirs as well as the colony they'd started in the Blue Mountains.

"I never thought I'd see you settle into such a domestic routine, Dwalin," said Ora as she glanced back at Fili and Kili, though no smile was on her face. No smiles were to be seen that day as it had been raining since the previous afternoon and was showing no signs of letting up.  
"Never thought you were the nanny type."

"Who was your nanny when you left Ered Nimrais?" he retorted.

"I'd hardly compare what you two were doing to anything similar to that of a caretaker and a child," mumbled Balin.

To her surprise, Ora felt her cheeks warm at the memories of passionate nights with the heavily tattooed Dwarf spent trying to forget her pain, but when she looked at Dwalin she couldn't help the smirk stretching across her features at seeing his own.

"I took very good care of Ora," said Dwalin, his tone slightly indignant.

"Oh, yes, I remember. My room was just down the hall."

"I wasn't _that _loud," said Ora, her lips pulling into a frown.

"Dwalin was. Being woken up by your brother's moans in the middle of the night is hardly a pleasant experience."

"Or coming across the two of you in the stables," added Gandalf who'd suddenly appeared next to them.

"I _thought _someone was there!"

Balin, Dwalin, and Gandalf shared a chuckle while Ora hid her face under the shadow of her hood to conceal her blush.  
If Dwalin was hoping for a repeat of their escapades on their journey, it wasn't going to happen. Ora had forsaken all bed company since then after regaining her sanity – it was forbidden for women Dwarves to lay with another unless he was her promised. Love and marriage were sacred to their people, as they only loved once and only a third were female, and Ora had no time for either.  
She only hoped their conversation hadn't carried back to the others. She didn't need the Company thinking she was a kinslayer and an easy lay and she hated men trying to get her into their berolls more than she hated suspicion.

"If you are done," came the low drawl of Thorin from directly behind, "We need to make camp soon."

Ora simply nodded, grateful her face was still hidden as her cheeks burned.  
Nudging Red into a slow canter she rode ahead up the path to scout out a place to spend the evening and found a clearing, remnants of deer bedding down for shelter under the branches of closely grouped pines before rejoining the Company. There was no word of approval though unlike the previous evening no one had griped about wind or being too open to attack, though she did receive a nod from Bifur as though he were thanking her for the shelter from the rain.

As was becoming typical Ora was seemingly not allowed to be on watch so after assisting a sympathetic and curious Bilbo Baggins she set her bedroll against the trunk of one of the trees and slipped into slumber.

XxX

_The darkness of the Deep Roads closed in around her, suffocating her already burning lungs as she gasped for air. The only sounds were her bare feet slapping unevenly against the stone as she ran and cold, cruel laughter. _

"_What's wrong, sister?" he said. "Do you not want to play with me?"_

_His voice chilled her deeper than any underground air and shook her to her core. She felt a strike – the first, his hand across her temple with the hilt of his blade and she fell to the ground with a cry of pain as blood trickled down her cheek. Then another, the second she barely remembered but for the laughter again.  
Soon the laughter and insults were all she heard, all she felt, all that filled her senses until she no longer felt the blows to her body as the pain of betrayal and grief racked her body. _

_And he was still laughing as he stood in his victory and she watched her life bleed away and somewhere a door slammed – _

Ora woke as thunder boomed and lightning flashed overhead, jolting from her nightmare. Water from the rain that had crept through the thick branches overhead trickled down her cheek.

"A-are you alright?" asked Ori timidly from the fire where he sat with Balin, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Bofur, Bilbo, and Gandalf who were all looking at her. The others were sleeping as she had been, snoring quiet loudly.

"I'm fine," she spat as she stood to her feet and marched off into the rain to cool herself and rinse the sweat from her face.  
As she scrubbed she fought the urge to flinch, pushing the memory of her nightmare from her mind and the echoes of Orrak's voice.

"Will she be alright?" she heard Bilbo ask. Ora doubted he wanted her to hear but she ignored him anyways.

"Shortly," said Balin. "She's used to the nightmares."

"What happened to her?" asked Ori, the sound of a boot striking flesh following it.

"Ori," hissed Kili.

"No… no, I don't think she would care if I told you, however it isn't a pleasant story," said Balin. "You see, Ora Stoneheart isn't her true name and she hasn't always been a mercenary. She is Orana, only daughter of the late king Orgrim of Aglarond and heir to Aeducan."

"A princess? But why –"

"Let him tell his tale, Kili," said Gandalf.

"King Orgrim of Aglarond and the Glittering Caves of Ered Nimrais had three children – Orral Thunderhammer was the eldest and heir to the throne. Orana was the middle child, and then there's Orrak, the youngest.  
You are aware of the politics of Aglarond, yes? Well, while Orral was next in line, rumours were that Orana would be elected as the Queen. She was popular, the finest warrior of the three Aeducan children, and a born leader filled with kindness and all the nobility of an Aeducan. She and Orral never got along – especially as rumours of her election began to circulate, but Orana and Orrak were near inseparable. From the day he was born Orrak was constantly following his sister around. She raised him after their mother died in childbirth – it was Orana who taught him how to braid, how to wield an axe, and how to survive in the political mire of the Noble Council of Aglarond.  
On Orana's ninetieth birthday King Orgrim celebrated with appointing her captain of their armies and a special… trial, of a sort. Her orders were to take a small group of warriors into the Deep Roads to a chamber where the Helm of Durin had been lost. It was successful, until they encountered Orcs."

"But Orcs shouldn't be in the Deep Roads, not that close to Aglarond," said Fili.

"Indeed," continued Balin. "But they were there. Lady Aeducan and her warriors made swift work of the vermin. All had gone smoothly, despite the Orcs, until she reached the point at which she was to meet up with Orral Thunderhammer and return to Aglarond as the victorious Aeducan heirs.  
Orral was dead, slain by an axe, lying in a pool of his own blood along with his company. Orana and her men arrived moments before and as she was overtaken by grief for her lost brother and future king, Orrak arrived with the Noble Council and King Orgrim.  
In a move no one had anticipated, Orrak had bribed and threatened the warriors in Orana's company as well as half of the council. Covered in the signs of battle and bearing her axe, the princess was blamed for Orral's death and the men she had shed blood with betrayed her as they told King Orgrim of how she killed her own brother. She was branded a kinslayer, declared guilty without trial, beaten, and sentenced to exile only to narrowly escape with her life as Orrak didn't plan on her truly leaving. A princess – the greatest queen Ered Nimrais would have ever had on the throne was stripped of everything she had, betrayed by the brother she raised and loved."

There was silence in the camp now, and Ora could practically feel their eyes burning holes into her back. As Balin spun her tale, she tried not to picture it all again – Orral's lifeless face contorted into an expression of horror and pain; her father's heartbreak, Orrak's cruel smile, the sun rising on Aglarond as she looked back for the final time.

"What happened after?" asked Bilbo. "How did she become Ora Stoneheart?"

"King Orgrim died just three days following Orana's exile. The princess was taken in by his allies who still supported her and failed to believe Orrak's lies – first, she went to Rohan, then to the Elves of Lothlorien who began calling her Stoneheart. In her grief the bright, brilliant gem of Aglarond had faded and dulled and she began to wander, earning renown for the cold way she conducted her work as a mercenary. Eventually Orrak the Butcher's cruel rule sent refugees in droves from their home to wander, lost until they found their princess. The warrior refugees of Aglarond had taken to banditry and Orana, as Ora Stoneheart, began the Stoneheart Mercenaries to bring honour to the Aglarond Dwarves once more."

Silence had fallen again, the only sounds the distant rumble of thunder as the storm moved on and the slowing of the rain. Ora sniffled, feeling the chill of the night air starting to seep into her skin but she didn't move as she wished to wait to return to the fire until she heard the others turn in for the night. Though she wasn't allowed to take watch she knew she wouldn't be returning to sleep that night. Not while Orrak haunted her thoughts.

"M-my lady?" said a voice. "Won't you come join us by the fire?"

Surprised, she turned to see Ori. Even in the dim light of the cloud covered moon and the fire behind he appeared young, and his presence in the Company surprised her almost as much as Bilbo Baggins'. He wasn't a warrior, but a scholar – she'd seen him scribbling away in a fine little notebook with a grubby quill almost constantly since leaving Bree.

"No, thank you," said Ora.

"Please, my lady," urged the young Dwarf. "We would appreciate your company."

Ora scoffed lightly.  
"I don't need your pity," she said, loud enough for the others to hear as she turned to march back to her bedroll. By the fire the company members that were awake were all staring with the same, familiar look of pity she'd seen in the eyes of so many – Lothlorien, Rohan, even some of her men on occasion. It sickened her, and roused what little pride she still carried.

"I don't need your pity," she growled again.

"Please stop being so stubborn," said Balin. "Come join us before you catch your death."

Ora turned to level her coldest glare but was met stubbornly by the elder Dwarf's. Under his obstinate glare and the shivers racked her body she eventually felt herself give in and snatching her damp bedroll she dragged it until she was next to Balin, threw it down, and sat.  
He gave her a look of great triumph, and returned to puffing away on his pipe to send rings of smoke into the damp night air along with Bilbo, Fili, and Gandalf's various moving shapes. Thorin simply glowered into the fire, still not having spoken a word.

"We're sorry," blurted Kili all of a sudden. "We didn't know –"

"It's not common knowledge, young prince," said Ora. "And I have dealt with my fair share of hatred in the past. It is not something I am unused to. I am not offended."

"If we had known – "

"Really," she interrupted again. "As I said, I am not offended."

"You are too gracious, my lady," said Ori with wide, admiring eyes. "Perhaps – well – if you're alright with it – could you tell us of Aglarond?"

At his kind face and open, innocent expression Ora felt a chill trickle down her spine at the sudden reminder of a young Orrak but she pushed it from her mind. If she were to succeed in the Company, she needed to trust them. Surely young Ori meant her no harm, though Ora knew it would take time for her to have any sense of security around Thorin and his nephews – especially while he insisted on staring at her so.

"I suppose," she said slowly. "Though, only if you stop calling me 'my lady'. It's just Ora."

Ori beamed.

"We have a long day ahead," said Thorin. "We should all be getting to sleep. Ora – you have watch."

She nodded, meeting his eyes.

As he should be, for a king, he was too proud to voice his apology but she knew one when she heard it and she found herself biting her lip to keep from smiling. However, when Balin grinned at her and Fili and Kili gave her a small bow before crawling into their bedrolls she lost the battle as she stared out into the night with all thoughts as to her nightmares gone for now, the glow of the fire and company warming her.


	5. Chapter 4: Trust

Chapter 3 – Trust

In a small Company word travels fast, and Ora was not at all surprised to find the entire group treating her with much more kindness than the past few days after Balin shared her story. While she was glad that they appeared to trust her more, she could only feel reminded of how easily hearts were swayed and felt herself wishing to retreat into further solitude from the other Dwarves.  
However, Bilbo Baggins and Ori seemed intent on not allowing any such thing to happen and Ora spent the entire morning ride answering their constant barrage of questions while the rest of the bored company lazed around the camp.

She didn't mind, for the most part, as long as the questions were of Aglarond and not her former family. Bilbo and Ori did seem aware of this and tried as best they could to not mention anything of the sort though Ora found herself constantly reminded of her brothers and her father as she described her lost home. She hated it, but thankfully now that the air was clear between her and the rest of the Company they were more than generous in offering to share pipe weed and the little amount of ale brought on the journey.  
Ora enjoyed the pipe weed, its bitter-sweet taste and rich aroma comforting, the heady flavour and effects of the tobacco taking the edge off though she stayed far away from the ale. Dwarf she may be, but she turned into someone she wasn't fond of when she drank too much and generally avoided it. The following evening by the fire she allowed herself to indulge and joined the Company by the fire, allowing smooth tendrils of smoke to snake off her lips and into the night sky. As if to reflect the mood, the evening was warm and clear.

"It was Gorim that recognized me. He was so surprised that he dropped his sword and I nearly ran him through," said Ora, sharing the story of when she'd met the refugees from Aglarond that had been living as bandits before starting the Stoneheart Mercenaries.

"But you didn't," said Ori, blue eyes wide.

"I wouldn't be much of a warrior, young Ori, if I couldn't stop my blade before it strikes an ally."

"Are there many female warriors amongst the Dwarves?" asked Bilbo.

"Certainly not," said Gloin, who was seated on the far side of Ori. "Our women must be kept safe, so they can carry babes."

"Then why were you raised as a warrior, Ora?"

"That is Ered Nimrais," she explained. "Unlike the rest of the Dwarven kingdoms, when the Deep Roads were lost the king didn't collapse the entrance in the hopes that someday they could be won again. All Dwarves of Aglarond can use a weapon of some sort, and the women especially. When so few of us are born female it is important that they are protected in any way they can be, and that includes being able to defend ourselves."

"But you were raised no different than your brothers?" asked Ori.

Ora fought the frown that was looming on the corners of her mouth as her mood began to darken, but she pushed it away.  
"Yes. The politics of Aglarond are dangerous, and all of Aeducan's heirs have always been the finest warriors in Ered Nimrais. My father wished to ensure my survival as a woman, and as an heir."

"Foolish," muttered Thorin.

"You think so?" said Ora, feeling her temper rise. "You think it is foolish to allow the women you stated our kin so covet?"

"I think it is foolish to allow such delicate creatures to try and protect themselves - and what if they wish to go into battle rather than stay home where they're safe?"

"Are you saying you would prefer me to not be here, to be at home where I'm safe rather than lead you safely to your lost kingdom, your highness?"

"Perhaps."

Just to her right she heard Kili mutter something about Thorin having gotten lost back in the Shire, but she barely heard it. The Dwarf king did and shot his nephew a lethal glare.

"Ora is the finest warrior with two blades that I've ever seen," said Dwalin. "You'd be careful not to test her."

A few of the members chuckled, and Ora frowned.

"She looks as though she could barely lift a sword, let alone swing it high enough to take off an Orc's head," laughed Gloin.

"Would you care to make a wager, then?" asked Nori with a smirk. "I bet that Ora could take any one of you down."

There was a mingled cry of outrage now, and Ora found herself flattered by Dwalin and Nori's faith in her. She was confident in her skills as a warrior, but against a member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield? There were far more experienced warriors present and she was far too conscious of that fact.

"You're on!" said Fili.

"Who will she fight?"

"Who said she will?" said Gandalf, finally intervening. "I have yet to hear Ora agree to this."

Looking around the fire and observing the Dwarves' faces, she realized that she really had no choice in the matter. Some men, while honourable, still needed to be shown that a warrior was worthy of their company and it seemed as though – by the skeptical looks many wore – they were no different. It had been a long time since she'd had to prove herself.

"I agree," she said, sighing in resignation.

The Company burst out into arguing once more and Ora found herself resisting the urge to roll her eyes while they tried to select who she would fight. Eventually, it was between Gloin and Fili and they were caught in a deadlock.

"I will do it," said another, quieter voice.

Turning, everyone looked to Thorin on the far side of the campfire and Ora felt her blood chill. He rose, watching her with a predatory gleam in his blue eyes as he picked up his sword and shield, not allowing anyone to argue – not that anyone was, as the entire camp had gone silent.  
Steeling herself, Ora picked up her own two blades and followed him as he moved to the other side of the clearing they'd set up in for the night where they'd have more room. The others followed, muttering to each other as they made their bets and Ora was pleased to hear Dwalin and Nori still betting on her. Ora's faith in herself was beginning to fail as she stared down the young king, clutching her blades with white knuckles but she was resolute in her desire to prove herself not just for her, but for all women Dwarves.  
As soon as the bets were set, Thorin lunged.

He was lightning fast, but Ora anticipated his attack and brought up her blades in an 'x' shape to block his sword, thrusting her left leg forward in a powerful kick to his stomach before he could strike her with his small oak-branch shield for which he was so famous. Her foot ached at the impact as Thorin was undoubtedly solid and still wearing his light plate mail, though the manoeuvre was successful and he was forced backwards and away from her – earning a cheer from Dwalin.  
She sweeped her swords in front of her, forcing him to take another step back. They began to circle one another, watching as two predatory cats might, tracking every movement in the hopes of seeing the barest hint of a muscle twitch that might give away their next move while the others called taunts from the sidelines. Taunting while facing an opponent was a common tactic, though Ora preferred to remain silent, wearing a mask of cold indifference. In her experience she found it much more effective of a way to anger and frustrate her enemy and it seemed Thorin was the same though his face was anything but indifferent as he glared at her with a look of utter loathing.

It was Thorin who moved first again, feigning to the right before swinging his sword in an upward cut that would have caught her in the chest had she not bent over backwards at the waist. The blade sliced past her face and she in turn allowed the momentum of her dodge to take her backwards, spinning into a low crouch with blades flashing out towards his unprotected lower body. He dodged the first blade and blocked the second, the short glancing off the oak resulting in a chunk of dark wood flying off.  
In a dangerous dance of flashing metal they continued to spar, regaining ground over the other as soon as it was lost until both were sweating.

"Are you ready to yield?" panted Thorin as they stood, blades locked and bodies so close Ora could count his beard hairs.

"Never," she snarled, both their arms beginning to shake as they struggled. Grunting, she thrust with all the strength that remained in her body though it was only enough to push him back a few feet. If she was going to win, she needed to stop being so honourable and end it before either of them were hurt. There was no way she could overpower the male Dwarf, but she had speed that he did not.

In a move as backhanded as the politics she had been raised in, Ora spun and swept a powerful leg in a wide arc, stealing Thorin's balance to knock him to the ground. He landed on his back but recovered quickly, raising his shield just in time to block Ora's twin blades. Thorin kicked out and she gasped as the air left her body and nearly took flight while – with agility she didn't expect – he jumped straight to his feet, face contorted into an angry sneer that told her he hadn't liked what she had done. In a blur of wood and steel he fell upon her and Ora was forced to block both shield and blade at a dizzying pace until they were left, breathing hard with sweat dripping down their faces, blades at each other necks.

It was a draw.

It took Ora a moment to realize this as the haze of bloodlust that was so common to their people lifted, Thorin's seeming to do so at the same time as she watched his expression change from that of fury to surprise and respect which was reflected in the eyes of the others.

"Well fought," said Dwalin, appearing next to them, patting Ora roughly on the back that in her state of exhaustion she nearly fell over.

"Indeed," panted Thorin. "I underestimated you, though I should have killed you for that dirty thieves' trick."

Ora shrugged.  
"You know as well as I that the flow of battle can easily strip away honour," she explained as she accepted the rag Bofur offered her to wipe the sweat from her face. "I would rather survive than hold onto an ideal and lose my life. Isn't that why we did this in the first place, to prove a woman could survive in battle?"

Thorin said nothing, but stared thoughtfully at Ora until she raised a curious brow and he quickly looked away to stalk off towards the fire.  
The evening slipped once again into a relaxed state and Ora, thoroughly exhausted, collapsed in her bedroll though she found herself once again being commanded to take watch. She didn't mind, worried about being plagued by nightmares and considering what she'd just accomplished Ora didn't want to wake up screaming like a child from a bad dream in front of the others – again.  
However, this time she found she had company in the very Dwarf with whom she'd just fought.

As Thorin sat down next to her she moved over to give him more space Ori and Bilbo had placed themselves so close to her. He didn't say anything, simply continuing to stare into the fire.

"You should be sleeping, your highness," she said quietly, looking at the young king.

"Sleep is hard to find when my mind is burdened, as I am sure you understand."

"Indeed I do," Ora replied. "However, I would be concerned if on such a quest you were not feeling the tiniest bit burdened."

The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and while he tried to hide it by looking down Ora didn't miss it. If their leader wished to speak to someone she would be more than willing – leadership, by its nature, was a lonely thing and something she was well acquainted with. While he wasn't responsible for the entire Company, Thorin held great influence and the well-being of the leader of any group could make or break a quest.

"I have a question, if you are willing to indulge me," he said, to which Ora nodded. "Why do you not return to Aglarond?"

She frowned, feeling completely off-guard by what was a deeply personal question and rocking back to sit cross-legged, the female Dwarf sighed.  
"As you are no doubt aware, Orrak has complete control of the Noble Council and has all but sealed the city. It would be impossible."

"You know that isn't true," he said. "I'm sure you know ways into the city that your brother is not –"

"He is _not _my brother," said Ora with a little more vehemence than she intended. "Not any longer – though, not because of my exile, but because he is not the man I knew. No brother of mine would do what he's done."

Thorin gave a noncommittal sort of grunt, but she knew he understood betrayal – perhaps not on the level she'd experienced, but there was a reason he was infamous for his dislike of Elves.  
When Smaug attacked Erebor, the closest allies Durin's Folk had were the Elves of Mirkwood but when king Thranduil saw the destruction of the dragon, he turned away, not wanting to risk the lives of his kin in what would have been a hopeless battle. However, this did not mean he forgave the Elves, and Ora knew very well from Balin that Thorin despised the Fair Folk with every bone in his sturdy body.

"If there was an opportunity for you to return, would you?"

"No."

"Why?" he demanded. "You should be doing everything in your power to right the wrongs of your – of Orrak. Balin tells me you would have been queen."

"I respect Balin, but sometimes I feel as though he says too much," said Ora. "Maybe I would have, but Orral was heir. He was my future king and I would have gladly pledged my loyalty to him as honour and family demanded. I wouldn't because even if I was able to return, Orrak's hold on Ered Nimrais is too tight, too severe. I would be dead as soon as I stepped into the Glittering Caves."

"And if you led your people?"

"Do you mean if I were to gather the women, children, and tradesmen that have fled and try to storm a near impregnable city to try and defeat one of the most highly, and severely trained armies in Middle Earth? No. It would be a massacre."

"Do you have so little faith in your own people?" Thorin asked, crossing his arms. "Some say that our journey will end in certain death and yet you are here. Do you trust us?"

At that, Ora paused as Gorim's words from the tavern echoed in her head. 'Mother hen', he'd called her, saying she didn't trust her men to complete the contract with the Rangers, or to uphold their honour – or to survive without her.  
She wanted to deny her lack of trust but as the hound of worry nipped at her heels, always prowling in the back of her mind she knew she couldn't. Ora knew she didn't trust easy, she could admit that, but Thorin's question alarmed her and she knew she would have to be careful with her response. If she said she didn't, then any rapport she's built with the Company and with their esteemed and very dangerous leader – as she now knew first hand – would be gone. However, Ora suspected he knew she didn't fully trust them and if she didn't tell the truth, then he would brand her a liar and any chance of trust with the Dwarf king would be gone.  
She cursed inwardly – caught between a rock and a hard place.

Mind racing, she found she couldn't shake the memories of Orrak that were suddenly bubbling up – in particular, her nightmares and his betrayal. She kept asking herself how she could have let it happen, how could she have not seen it?  
And then it struck her.

"It is not my people that I do not have faith in, and it is not you or any of the Company that I do not trust," she said softly. "It is myself. How can I be any sort of leader, how can I face Orrak when I couldn't see him for the traitor that he was? My lack of ability to foresee his betrayal cost my family their lives and Aglarond."

Ora could see by the discomfort on his face she'd said too much and began to regret it as he remained silent. While she had succeeded in not ruining the understanding they'd reached, she now feared she had simply embarrassed herself.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to –"

"No," Thorin interrupted. "You've just given me much to think about."

He lifted his hand as though he wanted to comfort her but seemed to think better of it before standing and returning to his bedroll, not looking at her again as he crawled in. Ora frowned, not understanding the motion, but pushed it from her thoughts as she turned her attentions back to her watch and left to wander the camp's perimeter.

On the far side of the camp, out of sight and breathing smoke moths into the night, Gandalf watched.


End file.
